7 November 1906: The chack, chack of passing fieldfares sounds long after the birds have vanished
The smoke from the cottage chimneys climbs heavenward without a twist or curve, the withered leaves hang limp and motionless upon the trees; it is a typical November day. Through the white veil of mist, hardly a fog, away from the town smoke, ghostly birds loom large but indistinct and fade away again. The chack, chack of passing fieldfares sounds long after the birds have vanished, and the cheery song of the autumnal robin is chanted by an invisible bird. Then the cold sun gains strength and lifts the mists, lighting the brown leaves, shining through their thin tissues until each becomes a glorious speck of rich colour. The dead fronds of the tinted bracken make a warm carpet beneath the birches, whose pale yellow leaves hang in fine relief against the dark green of the sturdy firs, and the drops of moisture glisten like diamonds upon the tugs and leaves. The glory of autumn is not yet over, for the frosts have not stripped all the trees, though some are leafless.
Fieldfares are reported by ARR at Windermere on the 22nd and Beverley, Yorkshire, on the 26th of last month.
